the love affairs of a bibliomaniac(藏书癖者的爱情)-第11章
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than the happenings in human life。 All men are not as considerate of
books as I am； I wish they were。 Many times I have felt the deepest
compassion for noble volumes in the possession of persons wholly
incapable of appreciating them。 The helpless books seemed to appeal to
me to rescue them； and too many times I have been tempted to snatch
them from their inhospitable shelves； and march them away to a pleasant
refuge beneath my own comfortable roof tree。
Too few people seem to realize that books have feelings。 But if I
know one thing better than another I know this； that my books know me
and love me。 When of a morning I awaken I cast my eyes about my
room to see how fare my beloved treasures； and as I cry cheerily to them；
‘‘Good…day to you； sweet friends！'' how lovingly they beam upon me； and
how glad they are that my repose has been unbroken。 When I take them
from their places； how tenderly do they respond to the caresses of my
hands； and with what exultation do they respond unto my call for
sympathy！
Laughter for my gayer moods； distraction for my cares； solace for my
griefs； gossip for my idler moments； tears for my sorrows； counsel for my
doubts； and assurance against my fearsthese things my books give me
with a promptness and a certainty and a cheerfulness which are more than
human； so that I were less than human did I not love these comforters and
bear eternal gratitude to them。
Judge Methuen read me once a little poem which I fancy mightily； it is
entitled ‘‘Winfreda；'' and you will find it in your Percy； if you have one。
The last stanza； as I recall it； runs in this wise：
And when by envy time transported Shall seek to rob us of our
joys； You'll in our girls again be courted And I'll go wooing in our
boys。
‘‘Now who was the author of those lines？'' asked the Judge。
‘‘Undoubtedly Oliver Wendell Holmes；'' said I。 ‘‘They have the
flavor peculiar to our Autocrat； none but he could have done up so much
sweetness in such a quaint little bundle。''
‘‘You are wrong；'' said the Judge； ‘‘but the mistake is a natural one。
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The whole poem is such a one as Holmes might have written； but it saw
the light long before our dear doctor's day： what a pity that its authorship
is not known！''
‘‘Yet why a pity？'' quoth I。 ‘‘Is it not true that words are the only
things that live forever？ Are we not mortal； and are not books immortal？
Homer's harp is broken and Horace's lyre is unstrung； and the voices of the
great singers are hushed； but their songs their songs are imperishable。
O friend！ what moots it to them or to us who gave this epic or that lyric to
immortality？ The singer belongs to a year； his song to all time。 I
know it is the custom now to credit the author with his work； for this is a
utilitarian age； and all things are by the pound or the piece； and for so
much money。
‘‘So when a song is printed it is printed in small type； and the name of
him who wrote it is appended thereunto in big type。 If the song be
meritorious it goes to the corners of the earth through the medium of the
art preservative of arts； but the longer and the farther it travels the bigger
does the type of the song become and the smaller becomes the type
wherein the author's name is set。
‘‘Then； finally； some inconsiderate hand； wielding the pen or shears；
blots out or snips off the poet's name； and henceforth the song is
anonymous。 A great iconoclasta royal old iconoclastis Time： but he
hath no terrors for those precious things which are embalmed in words；
and the only fellow that shall surely escape him till the crack of doom is
he whom men know by the name of Anonymous！''
‘‘Doubtless you speak truly；'' said the Judge； ‘‘yet it would be
different if I but had the ordering of things。 I would let the poets live
forever and I would kill off most of their poetry。''
I do not wonder that Ritson and Percy quarrelled。 It was his
misfortune that Ritson quarrelled with everybody。 Yet Ritson was a
scrupulously honest man； he was so vulgarly sturdy in his honesty that he
would make all folk tell the truth even though the truth were of such a
character as to bring the blush of shame to the devil's hardened cheek。
On the other hand； Percy believed that there were certain true things
which should not be opened out in the broad light of day； it was this deep…
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seated conviction which kept him from publishing the manuscript folio； a
priceless treasure； which Ritson never saw and which； had it fallen in
Ritson's way instead of Percy's； would have been clapped at once into the
hands of the printer。
How fortunate it is for us that we have in our time so great a scholar as
Francis James Child； so enamored of balladry and so learned in it； to
complete and finish the work of his predecessors。 I count myself happy
that I have heard from the lips of this enthusiast several of the rarest and
noblest of the old British and old Scottish ballads； and I recall with pride
that he complimented me upon my spirited vocal rendering of ‘‘Burd
Isabel and Sir Patrick；'' ‘‘Lang Johnny More；'' ‘‘The Duke o' Gordon's
Daughter；'' and two or three other famous songs which I had learned while
sojourning among the humbler classes in the North of England。
After paying our compliments to the Robin Hood garlands； to Scott； to
Kirkpatrick Sharpe； to Ritson； to Buchan； to Motherwell； to Laing； to
Christie； to Jamieson； and to the other famous lovers and compilers of
balladry； we fell to discoursing of French song and of the service that
Francis Mahony performed for English…speaking humanity when he
exploited in his inimitable style those lyrics of the French and the Italian
people which are now ours as much as they are anybody else's。
Dear old Beranger！ what wonder that Prout loved him； and what
wonder that we all love him？ I have thirty odd editions of his works； and
I would walk farther to pick up a volume of his lyrics than I would walk
to secure any other book； excepting of course a Horace。 Beranger and I
are old cronies。 I have for the great master a particularly tender feeling；
and all on account of Fanchonette。
But thereyou know nothing of Fanchonette； because I have not told
you of her。 She； too； should have been a book instead of the dainty；
coquettish Gallic maiden that she was。
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IX
BOOKSELLERS AND PRINTERS； OLD AND NEW
Judge Methuen tells me that he fears what I have said about my
bookseller will create the impression that I am unkindly disposed toward
the bookselling craft。 For the last fifty years I have had uninterrupted
dealings with booksellers； and none knows better than the booksellers
themselves that I particularly admire them as a class。 Visitors to my
home have noticed that upon my walls are hung noble portraits of Caxton；
Wynkin de Worde； Richard Pynson； John Wygthe； Rayne Wolfe； John
Daye； Jacob Tonson； Richard Johnes； John Dunton； and other famous old
printers and booksellers。
I have； too； a large collection of portraits of modern booksellers；
including a pen…and… ink sketch of Quaritch； a line engraving of Rimell；
and a very excellent etching of my dear friend； the late Henry Stevens。
One of the portraits is a unique； for I had it painted myself； and I have
never permitted any copy to be made of it； it is of my bookseller； and it
represents him in the garb of a fisherman； holding his rod and reel in one
hand and the copy of the ‘‘Compleat Angler'' in the other。
Mr。 Curwen speaks of booksellers as being ‘‘singularly thrifty； able；
industrious； and perseveringin some few cases singularly venturesome；
liberal； and kind…hearted。'' My own observation and experience have
taught me that as a class booksellers are exceptionally intelligent； ranking
with printers in respect to the variety and extent of their learning。
They have； however； this distinct advantage over the printersthey are
not brought in contact with the manifold temptations to intemperance and
profligacy which environ the votaries of the art preservative of arts。
Horace Smith has said that ‘‘were there no readers there certainly would
be no writers； clearly； therefore； the existence of writers depends upon the
existence of readers： and； of course； since the cause must be antecedent
to the effect； readers existed before writers。 Yet； on the other hand； if
there were no writers there could be no readers； so it would appear that
writers must be antecedent to readers。''
It amazes me that a reasoner so shrewd； so clear； and so exacting as
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Horace Smith did not pursue the proposition further； for without
booksellers there would have been no market for booksthe author would
not have been able to sell； and the reader would not have been able to buy。
The further we proceed with the investigation the more satisfied we
become that the original man was three of number； one of him b
